


just like fire

by everythingislove (straykid)



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Firefighter Even, Fluff and Humor, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-28 23:23:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13914369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straykid/pseuds/everythingislove
Summary: “I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he says eventually, offering a hand down. “I’m Even. I volunteer with the Oslo Fire Department.”“Isak,” the boy responds begrudgingly, grabbing his hand. “I took an elbow to the face while I was getting an unsolicited strip tease.”Or: Even is a volunteer firefighter responding to a house fire. Isak is having an awful night until a certain fireman shows up.





	just like fire

**Author's Note:**

> me: i need to work on my wip’s  
> also me: writes this instead
> 
> this meet-cute is (very loosely) inspired by a real life experience, and i couldn’t get the idea out of my head. it was intended to be a drabble, no longer than 1k, and somehow turned into this. i hope you all enjoy!!!

It starts with a kiss.

He’s in the bathroom of an unfamiliar house, at a party he never wanted to be at in the first place. The edge of the vanity is digging into the small of his back, and hands grip too tightly at his hips. His lips taste like cheap beer and the smell of weed clings to him. It’s sloppy—wet and rushed—and their teeth knock together at one point.

“You’re so fucking hot,” the boy mutters. His eyes are glossy and rimmed red, like he’s smoked too much or just can’t handle his weed.

Isak shrugs his flannel off, letting it fall haphazardly onto the floor. He reaches forward, tugging at the hem of the boy’s shirt. “Yeah, sure. Now get this off.”

The boy smirks. “You’re eager, huh? You gonna show me a good time tonight?”

“I’m not a fucking hooker, asshole,” Isak grumbles. A bad attempt at dirty talk has never been his idea of foreplay. He toes himself out of his shoes, and then starts to work at his belt. The boy reaches forward to help, but he smacks his hands away with a glare.

“Alright,” the boy surrenders. He takes a small step back, and starts to pull his shirt off all dramatically. Isak half expects his torso to be coated in baby oil like some sort of fucking stripper with the show he’s putting on.

The boy (Matthias? David? Julian?) swings his shirt around his head like a lasso, and then flings it into the bathtub. When he tries to bring his other arm down, his elbow connects with Isak’s nose with a sickening crack.

“Fuck!” Isak cries, his hands flying up to his face. His eyes water from the sting, and he can taste copper on his upper lip. “What the fuck?”

“Oh shit,” the boy says, eyes wide. His drunk movements are slow and jerky when he tries to reach for the hand towel off to the side. Isak has half the mind to tell him to fuck off, but unfortunately, he isn’t given the chance.

Instead of grabbing hand towel, the boy accidentally knocks it off the rack.

Directly onto a lit candle.

Isak has so many thoughts in that one moment. The first is cursing the stupidity of the fucking dude, who clearly can’t hold his liquor. He’s been chilling with him for most of the night, and knows for a fact that they’ve both had two beers respectively. No one can be _this drunk_ off of two beers. The second is furious bewilderment, because who the fuck leaves a candle lit at a fucking party?

And then flames slowly consume the towel, and the only thing registering in his head is complete fucking panic.

He reaches for his discarded shirt, trying to bat the flames out like he’s seen in the movies. The effort is futile, though; the two other hand towels on the rack are already blazing too. His eyes flit to the boy, who is gaping at the sight before him. He gives him a hard shove, gesturing around them. “Don’t just fucking stand there, do something!”

The boy blinks. Once. Twice. Then, the realization washes over him, and he lets out a high pitched scream. He flings the door open, stumbling into the crowded hallway frantically.

“Fire! There’s a fucking fire!”

Under different circumstances, Isak might have laughed. As is, he merely pulls the collar of his shirt up over his face, pushing through the crowd now gathered in the doorway. They might be dumb enough to watch the fire spread, but he’s getting as far away from that bathroom as possible. It’s cursed or something, he’s sure of it.

When he makes it outside, he stumbles down the driveway and sits himself down on the curb. He hears sirens in the distance, and while everyone around him scatters, he stays put. Even if he wanted to ditch the scene like them, his heart is racing too much to think about running anywhere.

His fingers twitch for a a glass, a joint, _anything_ to take the edge off, but there’s nothing. All he can do is watch the last few people come staggering out of the house, all in various states. One dude has something that looks suspiciously like puke on the front of his sweatshirt, while a girl leans into his side sobbing. It’s enough to make Isak cringe—both from the blatant heterosexual PDA, and disregard for hygiene.

He scans the last remaining people for his friends, but can’t say that he’s surprised that they’ve ditched him. Last he saw, they were all engaged in some weird version of spin the bottle that he wanted no parts of. In all likelihood, Jonas, Mags, Mahdi, and the girls had probably left together much earlier.

Isak uses his sleeve to wipe his upper lip, grimacing at the smear of crimson it leaves behind. The blood is mostly dried now, but it still makes him queasy. Not wanting to think about the current state of his face, he props his chin in his hand, waiting.

He watches as the police cars pull up, shifting restlessly. He doesn’t want to stick around and deal with them, but he’s probably the most sober person still around, and someone is going to have to answer their questions. Plus, he doesn’t want to be blamed for fucking arson if someone happened to have seen him. It’s better to be honest now, and hope that the chaos of the fire will keep anyone from smelling the alcohol on his breath.

One of the officers gets out of his patrol car, analyzing the sparse group. He’s a heavyset man with a thick mustache, like something straight from a cartoon. It only takes a few moments before his eyes settle on Isak, and he makes his way over to him. “Is everyone alright here?”

The dude in the sweatshirt chooses that moment to spill the content of his stomach into a bush. Loudly.

“Apart from him?” Isak mutters, mostly to himself. He raises his gaze to meet the officer’s, and jerks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the house. “There’s a fire in the upstairs bathroom. Some idiot left a candle lit.”

The officer nods, quickly calling a code out to his partner. Then he repeats the same code into the radio attached to his uniform, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Isak. He makes a gesture toward his throbbing nose. “Do I need to get an ambulance out here for you?”

“Uh—no, sir,” Isak clears his throat. “It looks worse than it feels, I’m guessing.”

“You stick around for a while,” the officer says. He clearly doesn’t believe him, but is letting it go to deal with the bigger problems. “We might need your help getting some more answers.”

Isak sighs, but nods, because it’s not like he has any other choice. Doing the right thing is a pain in the ass.

 

-

 

It starts with a house fire.

Even is well into his second year of being an official volunteer firefighter when the dispatch comes in. The operator gives the code and address while he’s pulling his uniform on. He fumbles with his helmet, and has to jog to the truck to make up for the lost time.

“Police are already there,” Mikael tells him as he climbs inside. Their boss and another volunteer, Lea, are respectively driving and riding up front.“They were on their way over to handle a noise complaint, I guess there was a party going on.”

“Drunk uni students?”

“Drunk high schoolers,” Mikael rolls his eyes, like they’re not practically the same age as them. “And ones who clearly don’t know how to party safely.”

“Do we know how it started?” Even asks, sitting down. “Did someone get a case of the munchies and leave a burner on?”

“Nah. They’re saying that it started in the upstairs bathroom. Maybe someone fell asleep smoking again?” Mikael shrugs.

It definitely wouldn’t be the first time they’d responded to a call like that. In fact, it was one of their more frequent ones, right up there with food left on the stove, and the very bane of Even’s existence: candles. He used to enjoy their soothing scents, but now just the word is enough to bring on a migraine.

“I guess we’ll see,” he sighs. “Is everyone safe, at least?”

“Everyone cleared out of there when they heard sirens or the smoke detectors.”

“Good,” Even says. The calls that require rescues are always the hardest physically, mentally, and emotionally. They always do the search procedure to be certain no one is unknowingly trapped, and it never gets any easier. He always seems to have baited breath as they sweep the rooms, until he knows for certain that no one is in danger. So while he might complain about responding to the present situation, he’ll take it over something like the nursing home fire from last year any day.

He leans back for now, listening to the blaring siren. It’s a sound that he—unlike most of colleagues—never gets tired of. For him it’s nostalgic, a reminder of when he was a young boy and would prance around his living room with a plastic fireman’s helmet on.

For as long as he can remember, he’s had two dreams: being a firefighter, and being a director. He’s lucky enough to be working on fulfilling both of those, through his volunteering at the station, and taking film courses. It’s an incredible feeling, especially because it was just a few years ago that he was certain his bipolar diagnosis was the end of the world. He’s overcome his share of adversity to be where he is today, and he’s proud of that.

When they finally pull up to the house, he hops out of truck readily. There’s the faint scent of smoke in the air, but there’s no visible blaze, which is a good sign; it means that it probably hasn't spread much. He starts to follow Mikael and their partner Lea up the driveway, when his boss places a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

“We need you to talk to the cops,” he says, voice leaving no room for argument. “See if you can get any ideas about the cause. I doubt this is a case of arson, but who knows these days.”

Even is mildly disappointed that he won’t be part of the real action tonight, but he doesn’t dare let it show. Instead, he forces himself to maintain a neutral expression, nodding in understanding. “Got it.”

He gets a pat on the shoulder before his boss turns around to pull on the remainder of his equipment. Spinning on his heel, he fights off the scowl threatening to take over his face. He doesn’t need to be a part of every fire, he knows that, but he has a sick feeling in his stomach that this has something to do with his episode from last month. All of the higher-ups at the department have been acting odd with him—

 _No._ He shakes those thoughts away. Discrimination is a serious accusation, and not one that he’s willing to make. Sometimes, people just wind up drawing that short end of the stick, and that’s all this is.

“Halla,” Even says as he approaches one of the officers. He tries to muster up a smile, but it feels too false. “Are you the one I should be asking for information?”

The man—Officer Olsen, according to the tag on his uniform—gives him a nod. “I don’t know much. Most of the kids scattered once they heard us coming, and it seemed like hey all cleared out.”

“Do we know the cause yet?”

“Allegedly, a candle,” Olsen scratches his mustache. Even swears he can see crumbs in it.

“And who’s saying that?”

“That kid sitting near the mailbox,” Officer Olsen openly points. “He stuck around. I’m not sure if he’s trying to clear his conscious, or if he’s too fucking drunk to care.”

Even glances over, but he can’t see much. The boy’s face is mostly covered by his hand, and the streetlight casts weird shadows. He squints, noticing a smear of something on the top of his hand that look suspiciously like blood. “Does he need an ambulance? It looks like he’s bleeding.”

“I asked him, and he said no,” Olsen eyes him thoughtfully. “Do you have first aid training?”

Even _really_ doesn’t like where this is going. He signed up to put out fires and maybe rescue and occasional cat or two from a tree, not step into the role of EMT. He does have basic first aid training though, and like it or not, this is what his job is requiring of him today.

“I’ll grab the supplies out of the truck and see what I can do,” he says. He hopes he keeps the contempt out of his voice. “Maybe I’ll get some more information from him.”

“Good luck,” Olsen says dryly. Then, before Even can change his mind, he turns and starts walking back toward the patrol cars, where his buddy is lingering.

With a sigh, Even returns his attention back to the boy sitting at the curb. He’s probably drunk, or stoned, or both, and he envies him a little bit. What he would give for a joint right now…

Once again, he pulls himself out of his thoughts. He has a job to do, after all. So he goes back to the truck, grabs the first aid kit out of the back, and then starts toward the boy. As he gets closer, he’s able to see the boy more clearly. He’s got a mop of hair on his head, curls all ruffled up from being played with, and a few little moles on his jaw line. His nose and the area around his mouth is covered in dried blood, along with the front of his t-shirt. He doesn’t appear to be much younger than Even, so he’s probably in his second or third year of high school.

“That looks like it hurts,” he says once he’s close enough, pulling his helmet off. There’s no need for him to have it on right now, even if it’s a slight violation of protocol.

“You should see the other guy,” the boy responds without hesitation. Even can’t help the small laugh that escapes.

“This was from a fight?”

The boy surveys him for a long moment, lips pursed. Finally, he shakes his head, ears turning red. “It was an accident.”

“An accident,” Even repeats. He can hear sirens from down the street now, no doubt a second truck to help them out. “What sort of accident?”

“Does it matter?” The boy snaps.

Even blinks, and then shrugs. “I guess not. I’m just trying to figure out what the situation here is.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I never said that you did.”

The two wind up in a stare off, and Even has to admit, that boy knows how to fucking glare. He wants to squirm, but he refuses to show that sort of weakness. He has no doubt that the boy would tear him apart if he did.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he says eventually, offering a hand down. “I’m Even. I volunteer with the Oslo Fire Department.”

“Isak,” the boy responds begrudgingly, grabbing his hand. His features soften, and instead of the guarded expression he’d had before, he looks sheepish. “I took an elbow to the face while I was getting an unsolicited strip tease.”

“Sounds like you’ve had quite a night,” Even whistles lowly. He would question the boy’s story, but it’s so ridiculous that it almost has to be true. Plus, while the faint scent of booze and weed lingers on him, he’s not acting intoxicated.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Isak winces.

Even drops his hand, sitting down on the curb beside him. He opens up the first aid kit, pulling out some cotton balls and the disinfectant. “Why don’t you tell me more about it while I get your face cleaned up?”

“You’re a fireman,” Isak deadpans.

“A fireman who got his first aid certification,” Even says. “I know how to fix up your nose. Of course, we could always just get an ambulance out here for you instead…”

“No! Fuck, no,” Isak sighs in resignation. He must be in quite a bit of pain judging by the state of his face, but the residual buzz of whatever is coursing through his system seems to be numbing him well enough. Even starts to gentle dab at his nose, trying to wipe the blood off and find the source.

“So, an unsolicited strip tease?” Even prompts.

“I was hooking up with someone,” Isak starts, eyes narrowing slightly. “A boy.”

He pauses once the words are out there, waiting for some sort of reaction. Instead, Even only nods, encouraging him to continue. He doesn’t care about his sexual orientation; he’d be a hypocrite if he did.

“He was a pretty bad kisser, but I figured I could overlook that,” he hisses through his teeth when Even applies just a touch too much pressure. “Then suddenly, he started acting like a fucking stripper, swinging his shirt around and shit.”

“Sounds hot,” Even says wryly.

“It wasn’t,” Isak groans. “It was awful. And then in the middle of his little show, he wound up elbowing me in the face.”

“You’ve had a bad night.”

“That’s not even the worst part.”

Even quirks a brow. “You've piqued my interest.”

“He reached for a hand towel behind me, I guess for the bleeding? I don’t fucking know. But he knocked it off the rack instead, and it fell onto the candle,” Isak’s jaw tightens. “So now I’m here, making sure I don’t get thrown into jail for any of this.”

“You won’t go to jail, it wasn’t even your fault,” Even says immediately, his mind is still reeling to catch up. The story is entirely ridiculous, but if his volunteering with the department has taught him anything, it’s that anything is possible.

“Great,” Isak doesn’t sound particularly relieved, but the tension melts from his shoulders. “Will he? The guy—the one who knocked the towel off, I mean.”

“I don’t think so,” Even drops the soiled cotton ball onto the pavement, reaching for a fresh one. He’ll clean up after, but for now, he just wants to get Isak all patched up. “I’m not the one who makes those decisions though.”

“Right. You put out fires,” Isak says. His voice sounds a bit weird with a lump of cotton shoved up his right nostril.

“I go to school too,” Even hums quietly. He wouldn’t normally share this much about himself, but he’s actually surprised to realize he’s enjoying their conversation. “I’m taking some film courses.”

“You want to act?”

“I want to direct,” Even corrects. “I would be awful in front of the camera.”

“I doubt that,” Isak says. His gums must be bleeding, because his teeth are stained crimson. “You seem like a regular Romeo to me. The media eats that shit up.”

Even’s heart skips a beat. “That’s my favorite movie, actually. The Baz Luhrmann version of Romeo and Juliet.”

“Is that the one with young Leo?” Isak asks. Even gives a jerky nod in response. “I watched the first five minutes of that once with my sister. I fell asleep after that.”

“That’s a sin,” Even says playfully.

“Well, maybe if I watched it with the right person, I’d be able to stay awake,” Isak says, and holy shit, is he… is he flirting right now?

Even is a professional. He knows that flirting with the people you’re meant to be helping is Not Okay. Yet he can’t help but notice that underneath the blood, Isak is actually handsome. He’s got these tiny gaps between his teeth, and a few freckles along his jawline. He has cotton balls stuffed into either nostril now, but somehow it’s an endearing look on him. He seems kind too, underneath that grumpy exterior.

His cheeks feel warm all of a sudden, and for once, it’s not from the blaze of a fire. He’s blushing over a boy—one who he’s meant to be helping, at that—and he knows that he needs to pull himself together.

“I guess you won’t be asking that boy from earlier?”

“Fuck, nei,” Isak makes muffled sound, somewhat akin to a snort. “If I ever see him again it’ll be too soon. I was thinking more along the lines of a sexy fireman.”

“I could bring you a copy of the station’s annual calendar,” Even offers. He’s joking, obviously. They did a calendar last year for part of a fundraiser, and had collectively vowed to never do it again.

“I don’t know,” Isak says, raising a brow. “Are you in it?”

“I’m working,” Even says in lieu of a response, “and this is bordering on unprofessional.”

“You’re a volunteer,” Isak reminds, holding his hands up in a mock surrender. “I’m only asking. You can’t blame me for taking a shot at the handsome fireman.”

Even bites down on the inside of his cheek, and he can feel his resolve crumbling quickly. “Hypothetically, if someone asked me to watch Romeo and Juliet with them, I wouldn’t be able to agree until I was off the clock.”

“Then hypothetically, I guess I would need your phone number so that I could text you later,” Isak grins. The sight sets off butterflies in Even’s stomach.

He reaches into the kit, and is glad to find a permanent marker inside. Uncapping it, he gently grabs Isak’s hand, glances over his shoulder to make sure that no one is watching, and scribbles his number onto his palm. When he’s finished, he places the cap back on, and tosses it into the kit, along with the disinfectant.

“You should really get home, maybe put some ice on that nose,” Even says, standing up. “You’ll probably have a nice set of black eyes in the morning.”

“At least I’ll look like a badass,” Isak says. “I can’t leave yet anyways. That officer wants to ask me some more questions, I think.”

“Alright,” Even nods. He’s not going to tell him to ignore Olsen’s request, because he knows that wouldn’t end well for either of them. But he finds that the longer he’s standing there, the more he doesn’t want to go. There’s something so easy about talking to Isak, that makes him feel as though he could do it forever.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately, if he’s being honest with himself) that’s the moment that Mikael, Lea, and their boss come back outside. Mikael waves him over while the other two are making their way back over to the truck, and Even turns back to Isak with an apologetic expression.

“I’ve got to go, but… maybe I’ll see you around?” He hopes that doesn’t make him sound as desperate as he feels.

“Definitely,” Isak agrees.

With that, Even finally starts making his way over to his crew. He has to debrief the Fire Marshall and Olsen about his newfound knowledge, albeit he leaves out the part about the striptease for Isak’s sake. The entire time he’s talking, Mikael is watching from just a few feet away with an obnoxious smirk on his face.

Once they’re walking away and out of earshot, Even purposefully knocks their shoulders together. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I’m a good friend,” Mikael corrects with a laugh. “I could tell that you like him.”

“I just met him,” Even says, not that it really matters.

“So?” Mikael shrugs. He glances toward the curb, gesturing toward Isak, who is standing up now. “Is that him?”

“That’s him,” Even says reluctantly.

“Tall, blonde, and beautiful,” Mikael hums thoughtfully, climbing into the back of the truck. “He’s definitely your type.”

“Fuck off,” Even says, but he’s fighting a grin. (And if his phone chimes with a message from Isak as they pull away, well. He’s practically off the clock now, and he's definitely not going to pass up an offer to watch Romeo and Juliet with an attractive boy.)

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated :)


End file.
